If you have any objections, get over them

Title: Ghosts
Pairing: Roy/Edward
Rating: PG
A/N: Post episode 51


Feedback much appreciated, unbeta'd

Alright, I have a real entry coming soon, but I want all these up hehe.

This one is not edited at all, not slash, slightly angsty.. or overly angsty? you tell me.

Title: Guitar
Pairing: RoyxEd
Rating: PG
A/N: Not edited

The Envy Meme

And the cool by association meme

*grins* Yeah, Imma gon go find some.. coffee now.. hey leah fuck you for making me curious about that stuff btw ROFL 

And it's cold and it's warm and life is dripping into sand, and the sun, she is black but the world is colour blind, and the day, she is night, and the night she is history and dancing never meant much more then stomp and clap, stomp and clap.

Well there's fire and ice but what happened to rocks, and the dirt and the mud and the stains on my jeans, what happened to yellow, and what happened to fun, who stole my umbrella who left me to run.

There's fancy words for fancy pain, I wish I had a letter for every single dime, I'd stamp on all the pages and I'd swallow all the wine, I wish there was a wish for wishing away the wishes that left me stranded, I think maybe somethings broken, but I've got both feet. My fingers are all counting, my eyelids aren't sewn shut.

 Someone stole the pieces, the pieces of my brain, they sold them to a sailor and begged him to make rain, he made it pour for days and nights, and betty said goobye, sometimes when I'm speaking I forget which truths I told, so I make a lie to cover and the others all grow old.

So tell me a story, where a girl meets a boy, tell me bout their picnics and tell me bout his wife, show me their shredded clothes and point me to the bear, what a tragic end, what a tragic despair.

Title: Boyfriend
Pairing: GreedxKimbley
Rating: ..Uh, light R?
Summary: Greed finds out about a certain blue eyed soldier

Title: Dear Alphonse
Pairing: Ed x Hei (Alphonse alter)
Rating: PG/13
Warnings: The only spoiler from the movie would be Al himself

Reed shot Tpol. He totally owns my life.

That is all.

Jade signing off *Salutes*

Bye world.

I'm taking permenant residence in my alternate reality. Tv's better there.

*salutes*

-Jade

wikidwitch

All posts that are not fiction, will be friends locked. Comment to be added, if we share a few interests.

So we'll lock you up in chains and tie you to the wall,
Pad them up with cushions and wait for you to fall
Sing the dancing rythems, make them running rhymes,
Fold up little napkins and move the clouds in time

If things were to be different we'd run with blood not spilt
with dresses of yellow and grey, wait for it to wilt
Flowers in the ribbons, dancing in the way
Making room for difference, making room for say

I hide my knives in pillows, I hide my lies in salt
I fake the frown that matches, it's there that lies my fault
Dip my hair in ink, wait for it dry
From cold dead hands my life you should pry

Wallow in the hatred, simmer in the sin
Smile in the shadows, let all this begin
Don't look down on angels, look upon the fray
Sink below those levels, come what may

I'm waiting for my label, waiting for my prize
Waiting for the horror, for my very eyes
Stop pushing all the buttons, think before you act
Written in the ink, the life does make this pact

For what is it to stand alone, to take not to give
To make your throne,should it be death does mean live
Take the final curtain, shred it to the threads
Grind it up in hatred, and curse the very bread

I think that's just about the crapest thing I've ever written - It sounds like I just wrote anything that rhymed with anything, but I didn't.. It means a hellava lot to me, every line - but It just comes across as... well.. Ugh.

I would say I don't know why I bother with poetry, but I feel that I can get out what I'm feeling better this way - I don't follow any guidelines, or know the rules of poetry so there's my excuse.

For frogleah, because I love her;</span>

(needs work, wrote it in five minutes, but I'll go over it tomorrow. In case it's not obvious this is fanfiction to Moulin Rouge, Feedback is very very appreciated!)

I knew a boy once, a boy with dreams and a heart full of ideas and creativity.

He spoke of love and beauty, he spoke of freedom and truth.

He stayed at our inn for a week, came downstairs in the morning a large wild grin on his face, a piece of paper in his hands, his cloak buttoned up wrong and his socks drooping, then started singing in the middle of the room, a marvelous piece that made us all laugh along with him.

He took me by the arms and swung me around in circles, laughing widly all the while, then sat at a stool with a false dignity and asked for a tea.

He always sipped his drink just so, testing it first with his tongue then, tracing the rim, then gulping it down in one go, it always amused me to no end.

Then he was see me once more, his eyes would light up and he would scold his throat trying to swallow his drink fast enough.

"Marie, oh Marie, would you tell me what you think. I was up all night with this and I really think that I -" I sighed and rolled my eyes, smiling a little at his enthusiasm, and resting against the bar, waiting to hear his newest work.

Then he would dart out of the room, kiss me on the cheek, wave to the elderly gossiping woman in the back corner, tip his hat at my uncle, smirk at the little children and return to his room, muttering notes as he went up the stairs.

He disappeared out the door, one week after, smiling and promising to return when he'd found what he was seeking.

We didn't see, nor hear from him for an entire year. Fred thought that he had heard rumor that our dear boy was working at the Moulin Rouge, as a writer.

Of course, we were all properly scandalized but chose to remain silent, after all, he couldn't possibly engaging in anything improper.

He returned exactly one year after, showed up the door stop, in the pouring rain, eyes downcast, soaked to the bone, and not a smile in sight.

We welcomed him with open arms, and I was given the duty of care taker, and care I did take.

He was dragged to his old room, his old bed, and tucked away like the little child I'd always seen him as. Yet when he mumbled a thanks as I passed him a bowl of steaming soup, his eyes were hollow, and I knew him to no longer be the boy we once knew.

Somewhere along his travels and adventure he had seen loss and he had grown up.

He did not move from his room for many days, and when he did make an appearance down the stairs, a small smile was in place and his eyes had regained some of their previous fevour.

He ordered a tea, and sipped it slowly, disinterested and plain.

I ruffled his hair, kissed his cheek and told him to come and find me when he wanted to talk.

Three days later he tapped on the wooden frame of my door, a distant smile on his face and a weary walk. I ushered him in, drew up a chair and we sat, made small talk and smiled softly.

And then, with a worn sigh he began to speak, in a voice that was perfect for story telling and a heart that was perfect for love.

Through painstaking minutes, and glistening tears, warm embraces and murmered words of comfort I learned the tale of Satine and Christian, the greatest lovers the world had ever known.

'And then, then -oh Satine, oh my beautiful Satine - she died, she left me, she just...just died"

I could not bare it, not our Christian broken and bruised, given a love so powerful only to have it yanked from him so soon, taken away by a force that no one was in power to stop.

"Christian, you told me that the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love-"

"Don't." his voice was cold and harsh "Don't, don't say it. I know, I've learned my lesson, paid my price. Please don't"

There was nothing else that could be done, so I wrapped my arms around him, drew him as close as I could and whispered "Cry for me Christian, cry for her, cry for love"

And Cry he did.

Months later, when he left our small little inn, his smile had returned, his fevour, as much as could be regained, was bright and cheerful, and his smile spoke of secrets that no one could ever guess.

He whispered to me as he left, he whispered a secret into my ears "Love is not the greatest thing you'll ever learn, it's the greatest thing you can ever have, but life, life dear marie, going on, is the greatest thing you can ever hope to learn. Cry for life Marie, cry because life is beautiful"

 

I want to show you the world the way it’s supposed to be. I want to take you through fields and I want to walk in the rain. I want to show you the life that the world had to offer. I want to give you the chances that you’ll never ever have.

 

I want the world for you; I want a life for you.

 

But wanting things never ever got anyone anywhere.

 

So now I am writing you this letter, this letter that will be sent and will break my heart and will only make things worse no matter how much I try to convince myself I’m doing this for the best.

 

As you may already know, things are… things are going wrong. So very, very wrong and I don’t want you caught up in the middle of this. Don’t say anything please, I can almost see you right now, sitting there, this letter in your hands, tears in your eyes because you know what is coming, your hair falling across your face in a way that drives me crazy, and your saying that it will be ok, it will be fine, you’re telling me not to say such horrible things, that when it’s over we will be happy again, that we’ll be fine.

 

I don’t want to think about you, I know it sounds harsh but it’s only making this letter a hundred times harder to write, and I think I’d rather it if we both just died heroically and screw the war. Screw the war, screw the manipulating bastards, and screw all those people who will use us against each other, screw the effects of the damn curse, the one that drives you to kill all those around you.

 

Screw it all.

 

Because, you know what? I want to be with you, and I want to wake up in the middle of the night, when the nightmares are plaguing me and I know I won’t be able to fall back to sleep, and you’ll be sleeping beside me, breathing deeply, so peaceful and beautiful, and all I’ll have to do is sigh and you’ll move your arms around me and pull me close, pressing my face into your neck to protect me from the world. I want that so much it hurts.

 

But – Here it comes, my moment to be all heroic and say I’m doing this to save us all, etc , etc.

 

We can’t. We can’t be together.

Why?

Because I am an idiot, I was raised with the ideals of heroics, I was raised to protect those that you love and, well, I love you.

 

Who would’ve thought? The first time I’ve ever said those three words to you and it’s said on the very same page that I’m telling you that we can’t see each other anymore.

 

I sound like a blubbering idiot right now, because I am. I’m crying and I’m scared and it hurts and I hate what’s going to happen to me, the inescapable. I hate that even if this war is won, I’ll still be what I am, I’ll still be who I am.

 

By now, if you’re still reading this and haven’t thrown it into the fire you always have lit, the one that flickers and dances upon your face, the shadows of the flames making everything seem eerie and magical, the fire that we sat by together, never needing words, and if it’s now devouring this letter then I know you’re on your way, up and out of the door the second you picked up on what I was rushing out to do, because you know that I’m not just going into hiding, because you know that I’m going to do something stupid and you think I need protecting.

 

I do but I shouldn’t admit that, I’m the hero remember.

 

So I just hope you are still reading, that you aren’t on my door step right now, with that angry glare that you usually only reserve for your family (or my family, case permitting) and a very stern voice with which you will ask me what the hell I was thinking, scaring you like that, before dragging me into a hug and screaming at me that I’m such an idiot.

 

And I hope that I won’t have to push you away in person because I really don’t think I’d be able to rush out and be an idiot if you did try.

 

So please, I’m begging you with everything I have, every time I ever told you without words that I loved you, every time that I kissed you, every time that I held you, every time that we whispered to each other, every time we laughed at the ducks, every time we snorted drinks out of our nose whenever someone would say how cute we were together.

 

I’m begging you with all that and more, to stay away. To stay the hell away from me, to run, I don’t care where, to go to the mountains, because apparently in a crisis it’s a good place to go, I don’t care. Just run. Don’t come and say good bye because I don’t want to say good bye, don’t try and talk me out of it, just leave, go and don’t look back.

 

You’re looking back.

 

Don’t. Run. Go. Now. Well, not now, but as soon as I sign this letter with my name, and you’ve read it, then I want you to run. I took the liberty of packing your bags the last time I was with you.

 

Do you have any idea what that was like? To watch you sleeping so angelically on the bed beside me, blissfully unaware of what was happening, and having to go around your room, our room, and pick up all the little things that we’ve collected over the years.

 

To move around our crowded room, our tiny little room, trying to make sure the wood doesn’t creak and taking down the photo’s, wrapping them in little bags. To drag out all of our clothes and spend hours trying to figure out who owns what, then folding them all so that you don’t have creases. I was about to do the hardest thing of my life and I worried about you wearing a shirt with a crease. To stuff all of the small little things that made the room ours into a bag and say good bye to them forever.

It was almost as painful as the night I discovered what I was… what I am.

 

I stowed it under your- our- bed and kissed your cheek, then your lips, and you murmured in your sleep, I kissed you once more, moving your difficult hair away from your face, marveling at how you always managed to look like you’d fallen from heaven, and now that I was done being very sappy I slipped out of the room.

 

I never turned back, and I desperately want you to do the same.

 

I’m not going to pretend, this is serious, and as much as I’ve attempted to make this seem light hearted, a letter merely mentioning that I’m going away for a short time and oh don’t wait up darling.

 

This letter is the last thing you shall ever receive from me, and you and I know it.

 

That when I leave, I won’t be coming back; I won’t be coming back alive.

 

It’s not as hard as I thought to say that, and I’m going to say it again, so you know I’m not joking, I’m not lying and that this is of the utmost importance.

 

I am going to die. I am going to die and unless you can see a way out of this (I can see you thinking as hard as you possibly can now, but I’m sorry love) well then I guess you shall just have to accept this fact and understand why I am saying good bye.

 

I’ve got a few years yet, before I am to die. Dramatic as always; and please love try and laugh at that for me, because I’m trying, just a chuckle or a smile, anything.

But these few years have to be spent away from you, far away from you, and I know you won’t like it. I don’t like it, in fact, I loathe this fact so much that I’m considering just coming back and sweeping you up in my arms and saying ‘Screw the damn war I love you’ Because it really does hurt me, it hurts that you never got to hear those words from my lips.

 

I’m sorry, I’m sorry that we only had a little while together and I’m sorry that I didn’t let you say good bye.

 

But I had to. It was the only way. You know why.

 

I’ve now come to the point of this letter, it was supposed to be a note, they told me, write a note, tell your lover that you’re never to see her again and leave it at that. But you know me, why would I ever start listening to the advice of others now, when I’ve been ignoring it my whole life.

 

I’m taking a deep breath now, I closed my eyes and I’m still crying. Paints a pretty picture doesn’t it.

 

I’m – well you know what I am, I don’t feel the need to write it down (I honestly don’t think I could handle it) and as you also know, we’re in the middle of war (stop rolling your eyes at me, I always state the obvious and you know it) and what’s worse, I am one sixth of the reason for this war. Not intentionally, but part of it all the same. The only way for this to end, is for me to go, to fight for what I was made for (literally) and to do what I can.

 

Then, inevitably, when all is said and done, I’m to go willingly, because well, we both know why I can’t remain. They know why at least, we can guess.

 

But I’m not one to argue (Yes love, I know, I’m lying through my teeth) and I’ll go, at least at first without a fight. This is all permitting I live through the battles themselves.

 

I’m not making things any easier am I? In fact, this whole letter is making things a hundred times worse.

 

Alright, let’s just say this.

Darling, I am going to war, because I have a choice and I made it, because it’s what they want. I’m going to go war, I am going to fight, I am going to be in pain, then I am going to be dragged to death, and then, at last, I am going to die.

 

You, through all of this, are going to be safe, you are going to be somewhere safe, with your family, as much as they hated me, I’m sure they’ll still love you, and you shall start on your dreams.

And when I’m dead, the war will be over, and you can come and say good bye to me, and I promise love, I promise you that I’ll not leave you with nothing, I’ll have them take out my heart and put it in a jar(A bit morbid perhaps) No, I know, it’s not a time for jokes.

 

My ring, I was supposed to leave it with you when I left, but I’m promising you now, when I’m dead, I want you to come to my funeral and I want you to take it from my hand, and I want you to keep it. You don’t have to wear it, but please keep it.

 

It’s my last gift to you.

 

I really have to end this letter, but I really don’t want to, I can still see your face, I can see your tears and it’s killing me, so please don’t cry or be upset, just please, accept fate and let me go without a fight, just let me go.

 

I’m letting go of life to save you all, to save you, so please don’t waste this.

 

I love you. Purely and simply. I love you, I love you, I love you, I could say it a thousand times and it was still be an understatement.

 

I love you and I’m going now, because I wouldn’t be very strong if I couldn’t end the one last tie that I have. I need to cut this string now and cast you into the world.

 

I love you.

 

And here I go, I’m going to end the letter, and I’m only hoping that you’re safe and well, and that you don’t do anything stupid. I’m the stupid one love, so don’t start taking after me now.

 

Good bye – I love you, I don’t know if I’ll ever tire of saying those words… I love you.

 

I love you.

 

                  
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